


Good Dog Runnin' Halfway Home

by fingalsanteater



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Chocolate Box Treat, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingalsanteater/pseuds/fingalsanteater
Summary: Braun is tired of Erick hanging around.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



He didn’t like Erick hanging around, bringing him food and kicking up his feet on the milk crate that served as a coffee table while they watched the bad soaps Erick insisted on keeping up to date with. But, Braun hadn’t kicked him out yet, despite his bad taste in afternoon entertainment. Erick was like a – a, well, not a fly because that was Sami Zayn, buzzing around him and somehow avoiding his swats. A rock. Erick was like a rock. Just there and sometimes you accidently kicked it and stubbed your toe painfully and sometimes you picked it up and chunked it through a window and felt better about smashing something.

When Erick found him after his break with the family, Braun suspected he was keeping tabs for Bray, but Braun didn’t care what Bray thought.

“You go ahead tell him every little thing I do,” Braun had said, holding Erick by the beard, one meaty hand squeezing his shoulder. “And if he ever has the guts to come here, I’ll smash his face in.”

Erick didn’t come back for a while after that. Then, he did come back, but he stayed longer and longer each time, not splitting his time between Braun’s and the compound any more. Braun told himself he didn’t care, but Erick bumming around his place almost constantly was really starting to irritate him, and destroying guys like Sami Zayn once a week just wasn’t doing enough for his nerves.

He was always a hair-trigger away from violence, but what really set him off was Erick attempting to hand sew a seam in a pair of Braun’s pants.

“Luke was always better at this,” Erick quietly said, and sucked on his finger where he’d once again pushed the needle through his skin rather than fabric. The way he said it was wistful, and Braun hated the memory that pricked at his mind - the whir of the sewing machine and Luke’s vests, Bray standing over Luke and watching him sew, a hand pressed possessively against Luke’s back.

Erick was so focused on his finger, he didn’t realize Braun was coming for him until Braun was yanking him up by the collar of his shirt, a fist full of red beard with it that caused Erick to yelp out in pain.

“I don’t want you here,” he growled into Erick’s face. “I don’t want anything to do with them. Which –" he poked Erick’s chest with his index finger – “means I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

Erick boxed Braun’s ear and pulled away from his grasp when Braun loosened his hand to fight back. Scrambling away from Braun, he stood across the room, chest heaving and fists clenched.

“How did you do it,” Erick asked suddenly. He slapped the side of his head, almost echoing the way he’d slapped Braun. “He’s always here -“ he squeezed his eyes shut and dug his finger into the flesh right above his temple. His face screwed up in a grimace of agony and a fission of triumph ran down Braun’s spine, only turning cold when he realized it wasn’t him who was causing Erick pain. He needed to change that.

Braun barked out a cruel laugh. “Trying to run away again, brother?” He spat out the words and hoped they landed like acid on Erick’s skin, eating away at him. “You’re weak. You were always weak. Never faithful enough to truly believe, and never blasphemous enough to find your own way. Bray will always have his claws in you.”

“How’d you do it,” asked Erick again, desperately, pathetically.

Braun sneered. “For as smart as you are, you never got it.” He paused and stared at Erick, looking for any sign of understanding, but Erick stood there dumbly. Braun took pity on him, just this once, because his pity was a table and he was about throw Erick through it.  

“You think I broke his chains?” Erick nodded and Braun laughed again. “There were never any chains. I did what he wanted because it was what I wanted, and then I just did what I wanted."

Erick said, "No," but it was soft, like the gasp of pain uttered by an opponent when Braun punched them in the stomach.

"And look what he’s done about it," Braun continued, "Nothing! He’s weak and afraid, just like you.” Braun stepped forward and Erick stepped back almost to the wall.

"You’re a dog and he’s your master,” said Braun. “You and Luke need Bray to feed you lies – you can't live without them, that’s why you keep going back. But, me, –" he pounded his chest with a fist – “l was only ever hungry for blood and bones crunching under my fists. There was nothing I needed from him.”

Erick was backed up against the wall and the disappointment and desperation on his face was what fed Braun now. Braun advanced on him until they were chest to chest.

“Now run home, dog, to your master,” he said, words more effective than fists, though less satisfying. He reeled back and then whipped Erick across the room, towards the door, tearing Erick’s shirt in the process.  

The door slammed behind him. Erick didn’t come back after that.   

**Author's Note:**

> Tile from Amelia Curran's [Hands on a Grain of Sand](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4cKsSMYLRU), which also features the lyric "Be my maker, set me free," a very Wyatt-esque lyric.


End file.
